


SAH KIIR LOK

by orphan_account



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crack, Crossover, Fantasy, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Humor, I Don't Even Know, Sherlock is a Dragon, Skyrimlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-15
Updated: 2013-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-29 08:05:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/684704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is an immature dragon who holds a far greater interest in the pursuit of mortal knowledge and solving mysteries than in attacking villages. John is an Imperial guard, just recently returned home from conflict against the Stormcloak legion, whose newest assignment is to investigate the rumors of a dragon sighting to the south.</p><p>aka I get a weird crossover idea and roll with it</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Study in Dragons

**Author's Note:**

> These can all my found on my Tumblr as well. I just finally decided to put them up on AO3.

“Aan kril jul-- _aan mey_ \-- het wah... unt ahrk krii faal bruniik dovah.” The massive beast craned its long neck, head tilting slightly to the side in a parody of human curiosity as its eyes swept over John, not quite blue and not quite gray, but far sharper than any forged blade. “Fah zin? Nid. Nahkriin...?” John swallowed thickly as the dragon took a calculated step forward, a voice like dull thunder rumbling from within its chest and rattling the soldier down to his bones in fear. 

Just as John was convinced his knees would give out and he would die as a meager snack to an ancient reptile, the dragon twisted away and snorted irately, “Nid.” 

John forced himself to release a long-held breath, blinking furiously against the cold and attempting to rationalize his situation with little success. If anyone had told him that morning that he would be shaken down by a _bloody dragon_ he would have made a point to laugh at their face, and yet here he was.

“Tell me, then,” the beast suddenly growled, looking back at John over its leathery wing with narrowed eyes, “if you have not come to slay me, why are you here?” Some tiny, strange part of John found the smooth baritone of the dragon speaking in Common captivating. Who would have thought a horrific, spiky monster would have a voice that would put the entire Bards' College to shame?

“How do you know I'm not here to kill you?” He found himself asking and quickly regretting as the dragon hissed at him through dagger-like teeth.

“Obvious. You would be painfully incompetent at such a task even in a group, much less by yourself. You are the first to have ever approached me, or even come close to my location, without fleeing and shrieking in terror. I am always aware of my surroundings and know for a fact that you have traveled this distance solo... you have courage most do not.” John wasn't entirely sure if the comment was meant to be a praise from the dragon, because the way it was spat out with such malice and disbelief lead him to believe otherwise. “But you couldn't have possibly come to fight me-- no, as you are nearly crippled from past, petty battles with your hokoron. Enemies. You can no longer hold a shield nor swing a blade with as much skill as you used to due to your shoulder. A piercing wound-- an arrow. Though you able to stand with trained conviction and rigidness, your limp betrays you. As thoroughly as you've been able to heal your injuries with restoration lah-- magicka, the internal damage cannot be reversed.”

John's jaw was tightly shut as warm breath puffed onto his face from the dragon's flared nostrils, its head inching closer to more aggressively stare down the human and snout nearly touching his broad chest. This was a challenge, John realized and stood a little straighter in response, this dragon was _testing him._

“I will ask you one more time, jul. _Why are you here_?” 

Seconds ticked by as John locked his gaze with the beast's, absolute and unfaltering. 

“I was sent by my Jarl to find evidence of a dragon,” he answered finally, slowly as to maintain an even tone. The dragon's eyes widened slightly, but John barely began to contemplate its meaning before it pulled away and shuddered with a small growl, shaking its wings lightly and scraping their tips against the stone floor of the cavern. 

“And you have found me.” The comment was small, even in the dragon's powerful voice. If John didn't know any better, he would have thought it sounded confused, _lost_ even. 

“Are you going to kill me, then?” He asked quickly before his smarter half could tell him to keep his mouth shut. The dragon recoiled in place as though John had suggested the most foul of blasphemies against dragonkind itself. 

“Nid. No.” It said after regaining its composure, sitting back on its haunches and visibly relaxing, wings tucked neatly at its sides. “You are... interesting. I will let you live on the condition that you do not reveal my presence to anyone.” 

Now he was bargaining with a dragon. A new one for a book, perhaps. 

“Okay, so maybe I can trust that you'll let _me_ go, but... what about others? I won't let you hurt anyone else.” _Threatening a dragon!_

To John's surprise, a warm and possibly amused rumble sounded from the base of the dragon's throat. “You are different than other mortals. It's... fascinating.” 

“Um, thank you?” 

“I promise to not cause harm to anyone so long as you remain silent. However, I do have a... boon to offer, as you've managed to achieve what no other could not.” Though the dragon's eyes remained intense, their previous iciness was entirely replaced by a bizarre sort of contentment. “You have made life a little less dull for me, and for that, I will tell you my name.” 

John felt his eyebrows furrow with rising suspicion, both of which the dragon noticed and then added, “A dragon's name can be a powerful weapon if used appropriately... or inappropriately. Surely you've heard of the Thu'um?” The man nodded, choosing to remain silent while the childhood tales of Dragon Shouts and the Voice- as well as the more recent event of grand treason and murder using a Shout- reeled through his mind. “It it my belief that you will not waste this gift of mine.” 

He gasped, startled as the dragon rose back onto its hind talons and puffed out its chest, wings flaring to the maximum span the cave allowed, which was still fairly impressive in size and caused John to instinctively take a step backwards. 

“I am Sahkiirlok.” 

Just as John was certain Sahkiirlok was going to launch himself overhead and into the sky, the pale-colored dragon lied down onto the ground once more and gently rested his head on a wing. 

He stood there for several, long seconds and watched the dragon sleep, eventually coming to the conclusion that this was the signal for him to leave and return home. John turned around, squinting at the glare of sunlight against the heavy blankets of snow through the mouth of the cavern, lifting a hand in a vain attempt to shield his eyes. It would be another long journey back to Solitude, where he would have to announce his failure. Perhaps he could simply write the rumors off as they were initially considered: baseless and not worth investigating any further. There was a civil war going on, after all, and John was positive the Jarl would rather spend her time focusing on that over the _possibility_ of a dragon flying overhead. 

Just as he was about to head off, John hesitated and glanced over his shoulder at the slumbering Sahkiirlok, whose tail twitched on its own accord. Had anyone ever gotten close enough to a dragon to have a civilized conversation with one, he wondered? Though frightening in appearance, John wouldn't deny that this particular dragon was not at all the winged demon childhood stories had lead him to believe he would be. Talking to him felt not entirely different than talking with any other... 

“I'm John. My name's John Watson.” When Sahkiirlok curled form didn't so much as twitch, John cleared his throat, gave himself a little nod and departed from the cave. 

Behind him, a deep voice rumbled softly, “John.” 


	2. Fahdon

“My offer remains, fahdon.”

John caught silvery eyes watching him as he adjusted the hardened leather straps of his knapsack to sit more securely against his chest. He inhaled deeply, shaking his head.

“No. No, I have to do this by myself. And I would appreciate it if you could stop calling me names. I don’t speak dragon.”

“Obviously.”

A lighthearted chuckle escaped his lips, which turned into a pleasant smile when he watched the frost dragon shift awkwardly next to him. Sahkiirlok was like an overgrown child with too much energy, too much wit, and not enough outlets to express himself. The woes of being an ancient reptile and generally detested by the population.

“I can’t say I’m one for the religious aspects of this journey, but I’d rather walk the thousands of steps alone than deal with the potential chaos of hitching a ride with a dragon.” Seven thousand steps, possibly more. As if the idea of trudging up a mountain in the center of an endless snowstorm was appealing enough, he would be counting his every step along the way. Further adding to John’s anxiety about his pilgrimage was the constant warning to be cautious, lest you slip and plummet some hundreds of hundreds of feet to a horrible and violent death below on ragged rocks.

“I am unconcerned with the amount of walking you will have to do,” Sahkiirlok growled, twin puffs of air shooting from his nostrils and kicking up dust. “There are many dangers that live on the high strunmahhe. Mountains. I would know- I am one of them.” His lips pulled back into a sneer, his rows of fangs flashing in the pale, winter light.

“Yes, well, I’ll be careful. You forget that I’m a soldier and I’m quite used to having to kill things for a living.” John adjusted the fur lining of his collar, frowning as the rough texture scratched his neck. It would be uncomfortable to wear for a long period of time, but at least he would be less likely to freeze to death.

Saahkiirlok hissed in displeasure, his head lowering slightly. “You were a healer. You did not have to fight alone.”

The dragon glared at John when he reached out and teasingly patted the tip of his snout, laughing warmly, “I’ll be fine. There’s no need to fret over my well-being.”

“Zu’u ni! I am doing no such thing!” Sahkiirlok pulled away entirely, bristling and flaring his wings in contempt. “ _Worry_ is a pathetic mortal emotion that I will have no part of.” His tail lashed to the side, charcoal-colored spines scraping against stone. He curled up on himself in the far corner of the cavern, fully intent on pouting, John realized.

The man sighed, running a thickly-gloved hand through his disheveled, sandy hair and moved to leave. If Sahkiirlok was going to have one of his black moods because of his uncharacteristic display of concern for a _human_ , it would be in John’s best interest to begin his journey as soon as possible and leave the dragon to… whatever he usually spent his time doing.

“Right. I’m off then.” He tugged the hood of his coat over his head. “Try not to freeze any stray adventurers while I’m gone.”

A grumble, “I make no promises.”

Sahkiirlok watched John exit his lair, silent in thought, before quickly scrambling out into the snow and booming, “Kos krin, fahdon.”

John turned back and smiled.


	3. Conflict at the Pass

**FO**

John's head jerked upward, his breath catching painfully in his back of his throat. An awful, sharp sound rang in his ears as the Shout reverberated through the cold, dusk air, followed by the telltale shrieks of heavy combat. He swallowed down hard, feeling anxiety weighing down on his chest, and unconsciously felt for the hilt of his sword at his side.

Any temptation he had to investigate the fight was quickly smothered by the monstrous snarl of a dragon. John chuckled humorlessly to himself, muttering a nervous “of course,” before shuffling only _slightly_ hurriedly through the thick layer of snow in the direction of a cluster of thin trees for cover. Perhaps a younger, more arrogant adventurer would consider themselves brave enough to take on a dragon solo, but John was not that kind of man. Bravery was, by far, the kindest word for stupidity.

Just as he was positive he would be waiting out the night huddled down at the base of a tree in the middle of a snowstorm, all sound abruptly came to a stop. John forced himself to breathe steadily, quietly, straining his hearing for any sign of the dragon.

He didn't have to wait long, soon hearing the beast rumble something before beating its leathery wings and rising into the air, into John's line of sight. _Frost dragon,_ he concluded at the sight of monochrome scales and frightening spikes running from head to tail. Naturally, there would be a frost dragon living out in the _frost._ A small voice whispered in his head, _don't be stupid John._

The dragon was flying in place, its wings flapping a little desperately to keep itself aloft so close to the ground with little available lift. It spun around, spaded tail lashing out like a frustrated cat.

“Zu mindok hio kos het!”

Wait.

“Fahdon!”

John pinched the bridge of his nose. “Oh for the love of--” 

He might as well have screamed, because immediately the dragon stirred, twisting himself into a near dose-dive in John's direction. John swore loudly and scrambled backwards as Sahkiirlok hovered just above the ground, his wings brushing up clouds of loose snow. He adjusted himself slightly as to not crash into the human pressing himself up against a tree, and dropped to the snow in a ground-shaking slam. His throat rumbled pleasantly. “You are not good at hiding.”

“Sometimes you can't hide from a bloody _dragon._ Just what the hell were you doing over there?” Instinctively, he looked over the twitchy Sahkiirlok as he nipped at the finger on his wing, spitting something out and then licking the claw to a clean shine. It was only then that John noticed the splatters of blood staining his normally white scales a deep crimson. Blood trickled down his chin and coated his snout, which he proceeded to lick clean as well.

“You-- what did you do?” John demanded in rising horror, the images of maimed bodies, torn and scattered across the snow, flashing through his mind. “Did you attack someone?”

“Geh. Yes,” the dragon mumbled in between licks.

“Divines... You killed them, didn't you? Whoever they were, you _killed_ them. That was a Shout you used, I _heard_ you!” He felt his stance shift as he withdrew his blade from its sheath in a soft hiss.

Unfazed, Sahkiirlok chewed at an arrow puncturing the thin membrane of his wing, tearing the wooden object out and spitting it hatefully into the snow.

“I can't believe this-- after all the shit you told me, you go off and murder someone. Some people. _Human beings._ ”

“They were not good humans.” Sahkiirlok growled, nostrils flaring momentarily as he looked straight at John. “I watched them for some time. Watched you. They were waiting for you to reach the crossroads to the north toward Dawnstar, and they would have ambushed you.”

John's tongue darted out to wet his lips as he thought of an appropriate response with a dragon staring him down, literally. “And... how do you know this?”

“I told you already, John. Do keep up,” Sahkiirlok said, his lips pulling back in mild irritation. “I observed them for quite some time. They wore the skins of animals and carried weapons that have been used too often, with not enough care. They are vicious fighters, untrained in the art, and do not care for the well-being of those they kill. I would not consider them as human.”

“But they were. They were human and you killed them. And what for? To protect me from an ambush? I appreciate your concern--” Sahkiirlok hissed, “-- but I'm a grown man, a _soldier_ , and I can handle my own battles.”

“Folaas!” The dragon snarled, stepping toward John and baring his teeth. “They outnumbered you five to one. Perhaps you would have wounded one of them, and perhaps you would have lasted longer than most of your kind, but they would have _overwhelmed_ you and they would have _killed_ you. An unacceptable outcome that I will not allow.”

John and Sahkiirlok watched each other for several seconds, the blond man slowly shaking his head and dragon trembling in anger.

“So you're really worried about me. Enough to kill over. I'm just a crippled man, Sahkiirlok.” He ran a hand through his hair, breaking eye contact with the frost dragon and hoping he wouldn't notice him faltering, judgment clouded by new, and strange, emotion. “I'm no one. Why do I matter so much to you?” 

John wasn't paying attention to Sahkiirlok as his words struck a harsh chord, the beast lowering itself slightly, looking lost. His wings hugged his sides tightly. “I--”

“Sahkiirlok?” John returned his gaze to him, only in time for something to snap the tension in two. Sahkiirlok roared, spreading his wings and launching himself into the air with a powerful leap. John cried out as he was toppled over from the resulting gust of wind, bringing a gloved hand over his eyes to shield them from the fragments of ice tearing through the air. 

Once Sahkiirlok had a great enough altitude as to not assault him with snow, John struggled to his feet, warily watching the dragon while he continued to snarl at him, tail curling under him.

“You are nothing to me, John Watson.”

Sahkiirlok spun around, wings forcing himself higher and farther, until his form faded into the night and John was left alone and bewildered in the cold.


	4. phantom/child/sky

John was beginning to think he had underestimated the idea of a school designed specifically for the magick user. He walked the halls of the College of Winterhold, a dumfounded smile stretching slowly across his face as he passed under looping arches built from stone, and robed students scampering by with their arms hugged over stacks of books. 

He had made a quick friend of a dark-skinned woman named Colette, who held a questionable penchant for paranoia, it seemed, when she inquired about his knowledge of the magick arts already defensive and ready to argue her case. As a restoration expert herself, she was more than thrilled to find someone else who respected the school and found it as useful as she did.

John remembered breaking the shaft of an arrow piercing the muscle in his shoulder, biting down on a strip of leather from his satchel as he dug splinters out from the wound, and soothing it with a healing spell. Gently touching a shallow slice splitting open a comrade's eyelid and fusing it back together, with only a faint scar as evidence it ever existed. Screaming, pressing his hands down on an open stab wound in Bill's side as blood bubbled into a warm pool in the dirt and John's magicka drained out of him in pure desperation.

He was inclined to agree with her.

His initial mistake was carrying his Solitude shield, the emblem immediately putting the mages on guard to his presence. It was easy, however, to reassure them that he posed no threat as a simple, retired soldier, and only ventured to the College for assistance in research.

John pointedly didn't mention his research involving a moody dragon, with whom, he had recently had a row which left him more puzzled than his first meeting with the creature.

The library was more than he could have imagined, and John spun around once in place just to take in the expanse of the room while ignoring the strange look he was receiving from a resident orc sitting at a nearby desk. “Look at any book you want, but none are to leave the library, do you understand?” The bearded Osimer shouted at him as he skimmed the shelves, fingers brushing the long since faded bindings of each book. The amount of knowledge contained in this single room was breathtaking, but John shook his head to rid himself of the temptation of distraction. It was dragons he wanted to learn about. Dragons, dragons, _dragons._

Finding said dragons appeared to be more difficult than he thought, and after shuffling awkwardly on his feet for several seconds and pretending to read a book on intermediate jewelery-crafting, he approached the orc mage and cleared his throat.

“Ah, do you have anything on dragons?” He asked, looking once over his shoulder. The librarian grumbled something about “people and their damn dragons” before pointing toward a bookshelf on the outer wall, sitting next to a stairwell.

“Thank you.” John nodded and made a beeline toward the shelf, leaving the orc to do whatever task he was working on, as grumpy as ever.

Perhaps he should have been more specific than “dragons.” Each layer was crammed to burst with different books of all sizes and branches of study-- from a research journal titled _Uses of Dragonbone in Alchemy_ to a leather-bound book with bold, block text stretching across the spine: _DOVAH._

_“. . . unt ahrk krii faal bruniik dovah.”_

John grabbed _DOVAH_ and flipped open the cover in one quick motion. There he was met with a series of dots and slashes, and raising an eyebrow, turned a couple pages.

_Comprehensive guide of dragon language. Includes detailed writing guide of dragon alphabet and translation assistance into various regional languages._

“Huh,” John murmured thoughtfully, flipping several more pages past an introductory statement and onto the first chapter. Then, he glared at the book as it went into painstaking detail about what to do if ever spoken to by a dragon. “Make nice,” he told the passage and turned over page after useless page, growing impatient.

 _Simple translation into Common alphabet and meaning._ Perfect.

It was then that John felt the ache in his ankles from standing so long in heavy armor, and made his way over to a nearby table, carefully placing the book on its wooden surface next to a decorative bundle of flowers and sitting down.

This is likely the only section of the book he would be remotely interested in. In one row was a tiny copy of a word in dragon alphabet, the strange dots and slashes from the front of the book (which he would have to translate later out of spite). Next to that was a Common alphabet translation, then a literal Common translation next to that. The list was one word at a time, both convenient and time consuming. It was made only slightly easier by being alphabetical for the Common section, considering the book wasn't likely to be read by dragons anytime soon.

Arise, autumn, axe...

Break, cold, child.

Kiir. _Child._

He failed at suppressing a laugh, biting lightly into the side of his hand with a smile as he searching for other fragment's of his dragon's name. _His_ dragon-- who would have thought?

Sah. Phantom.

Lok. Sky.

A bizarre sensation washed over John as the final pieces fell into place, and the full dragon name was laid out in front of him in its latent power.

_“A dragon's name can be a powerful weapon. . .”_

**SAH KIIR LOK**  
phantom/child/sky

The blond man sat still for a moment, staring at the words in front of him. Somehow, he felt as though he had violated someone's privacy, gaining sensitive information, rather than simply figuring out what their name meant in his mother tongue. Sahkiirlok had trusted him enough to tell him his name and hint about the potential use of it...

John wondered if he would ever see the angry dragon again, his heart growing heavy under his breastplate, as he traced the outline of the dragon-- _dovah_ \-- alphabet with the tip of his index finger. For being _his_ dragon, Sahkiirlok's parting words had certainly sounded final.

Just as he was feeling a bit nauseous about his ordeal at the mountain pass, nearly wanting to put the book away and leave the library altogether, he saw it.

Fahdon.

Fahdon. Friend.

He swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. _Friend?_

This entire time, a dragon had been calling him “friend.” Even when John thought he was being insulted and teased the dragon in retaliation, earning himself a light swat on his legs with a spaded tail. Shouted at the dragon and told him off for killing bandits-- for protecting John and being extremely un-dragon-like in every sense of the word, and for what? The friendship of a mortal? Knowing fully well that he considered John precious in a way a human would never be able to understand?

_“Kros kin, fahdon.”_

_“Fahdon!”_

_“You are nothing to me, John Watson.”_

Hand trembling, he felt for the book's front cover underneath his fingers and slammed it shut.


End file.
